Short Stories: The Reaping of Haymitch Abernathy
by OurFerrisWheel
Summary: On the Journey from District 12 to the Capitol, Haymitch can't sleep.Walking from his dorm to the empty living area, he unexpectedly stumbles on the sight of Katniss and Peeta, watching previous Hunger Games. As the elder victor is about to leave, a flash back alerts him. A person on the screen he will never forget, unchanged by time and pain. Strong but not strong enough.
1. Chapter 1 The Daunting Memory

**Short Stories: The Reaping of Haymitch Abernathy **

**Hey guyyyyyyss, this is my first fanfic and I wanted to dedicate it to my favourite Hunger Games character Haymitch Abernathy who is played by the one and only Woody Harrelson, who also was in Zombie land (A legendary movie, so watch it if you haven't!) . Seeing as it is my first fanfic please be nice, I wanted to base it on the book rather than an alternative universe; it is quite long for a short story. I hope you all enjoy it! And all credits go to The Hunger Games, albeit I have made some names up, and this story is MINE …. Enjoy!**

The train moves past District 8 and into District 7, though going 200mph, you can't feel a thing. Capitol Technology. Sleep in my books can only be eased by a little night cap, or as everyone knows, by the Capitol's finest whiskey. I get up from the fur coated duvet slinging my knife on the dark blue bed side table hoping I didn't chip away some of the glass structure and leave my dorm avoiding crashing into bottle after bottle, empty bottles.

As I enter the living area expecting it to be dark especially after these hours, I orientate myself from the clouded tipsiness of the previous encounter with drink and see two figures in the room. Sitting on the Midnight blue sofa looking up at the wall that shines light above their heads, their backs are towards me and their eyes hungrily memorising every movement on the screen.

I watch them together on the couch glaring at the capitol television. "The Girl on Fire" and "The Boy with the Bread". She cried one night after having nightmares and said she did know him, in another life. He tossed her some bread when her family starved. So that explains the name. They watch the screen as tributes became Victors and listen to the ever knowing sadistic roar of The Capitol; their cheers however blinded by one child's death that means another's survival.

On the screen, the dark skinned Victor with cropped black hair stands with a bloodied knife in his right hand, his other hand only connected to his wrist by a few blood vessels. The Victor was lanky however tall, much the same with his the other tribute from District 2 however he was more built with biceps the same size as his own head, pale skin and with a wound bearing across his chest to his right lower side, his face pristine without a scratch. A carrier none the less, trained in combat in a special academy and later volunteers themselves to hopefully win and enjoy the riches the Capitol has to offer for their homicide. The memory of Cato burns my mind. He was a murderous arrogant fool, but none the less he was a child poisoned by the Capitol, he didn't deserve it, none of us did.

The Victor could be no one else but Chaff, the same Chaff who won The 45th Hunger Games, who did not accept the Capitol's hand prosthetic once winning, who came from District 11 and helped Thresh and Rue in training. We drank to forget and sleep, but the nightmares are always awake, no weapon could ever save us from it. Chaff, a good friend, always seemed like a trouble maker with both dark and light hearted jokes but his demeanour displayed on the screen was unrecognizable: scared, exhausted and remorseful. Not glad, no one was ever glad. Despite the games we played had ended, there are no winners, only survivors. In a sense the games never really did end.

She lays her head on his chest whilst he crosses his arms over her shoulders, protecting her. The pieces of Snow's games. The "Star Cross lovers" are not the people I see in front of me, the people I see in front of me are children, wounded by fear and suffering afraid that their actions may lead to others pain let alone theirs. The coal mining district's Victors, who defied the Capitol; who made Snow seem weak and stupid now must pay the price for the revolution that is starting. The thought of the revolution makes my chest heave, I am the one they can trust, the only one who understands the pain that screams every time I close my eyes, and now betrayal is our only hope.

As I walk across the mahogany dining table, I thank the freshly hovered blue carpet that mutes the sound of my feet walking and swing a glass in my left hand whilst I hold the drink in the other. I make my way to the exit when something catches my eye. The daunting memory that is translucent before my blonde hair, lingers on the screen above us. A dark curly haired boy with bright Seam grey eyes was staring back at me emotionless. His eyes burn with hatred and fear as his lastly reaped served him his death sentence. He was young and strong but not strong enough; little did he know he was going to win the games. My younger self.

I felt a shiver as I see the four of us in a line standing on the stage of the Justice building and in front of our people, for The Second Quarter Quell. As it was the 50th anniversary they reaped 24 more tributes and 47 deaths that would occur as they crown one Victor.

Peeta and Katniss start talking about the girl the one on the far right as I stand on the far left, the merchant's daughter. The first to be reaped, hugged by Katniss' mother and torn away from her twin. I couldn't save her. Haunting my dreams and pleading me to end the pain, her screams of my name pierces my hearing as I tried to help her; soft cries echoes as I lie and tell her It's okay while she sleeps for the last time.

I put the glass and the bottle of drink on the table silently, and lower myself unknowingly onto a slumped chair at the far end of the room near the wall. My chest still tight and the feeling of grief grows sweeping into my mind as I feel my hands trembling. Trying to hold back aching unshed tears from my eyes, it comes back. I remember when it happened, when it all started, the day my family and my girl lost me and the day when I lost them.


	2. Chapter 2 Restless night

**Please forgive me for not publishing at the earlier hour, I had a mild case of writers block! The next few chapters will be out in the next two months... Enjoy fellow mutants!**

The soft wind blew into the room I shared with my younger brother, Jouno, we both didn't sleep that night. Covered in a pool of sweat, I could tell he was crying; sniffing every few minutes with laboured breathing as he moves his arm to wipe away the tears. No one would sleep tonight, no one could. He was 13 years old and this was his second reaping, despite surviving last year he wept as the nightmares stalked him, nightmares of being reaped, killed or killing.

Year after year tributes are forced away from their families into a blood bath becoming murderers in order to keep breathing. In District 12, it wasn't a common circumstance where one of our tributes will return back from the games. Out of the 49 previous years there were only two victors from 12, Fonaw Dellby and Anesse Tarmeg.

Fonaw Dellby was 17 when he was reaped in the 20th Hunger Games, he survived despite having his left eye gouged out by a spear-armed carrier tribute from District 1. Though he was blind in one eye, he could never be blind to the sight he had seen, death upon death of alliances he had made, that he was and was not responsible for. This is probably why he took his own life by a morphling overdose, because he couldn't take any more responsibility from what was had done or re-live the horror and fear of what he had become. please

Anesse Tarmeg on the other hand won the 36th Hunger Games at 15. She had won by her opponents disadvantage, kept herself to herself and created a weak mask that hid away her manic and vicious survival instinct. Her victory was granted by a blood bath, as she would have wished, where two career pack met; this was an opportunity for her, her only escape. The last tribute to be standing, Hender district 5 aged 16, picked up his dagger, and continued on through crimson stained snow.

It was so quick and painless, Anesse grabbed his dagger and slammed the side of her palm on the side of his neck, cutting off oxygen making him wheeze. He knelt down and looked at her with defeat yet he did not fight, he stayed down unarmed and waited for what was to come. His figure even when kneeling came up to her upper abdomen. Apologising for what would come Tarmeg steadied his neck and quickly slashed the blade against his throat. Hender's pale lifeless body collapsed on the cold ice ground and the Cornucopia roared, as tribute became victor.

Those in the Capitol may say she was a cold calculating killer, with a passion for split blood, but the districts knew better. Death was more preferable than living with horror and images of bloodied mutilated children.

Suddenly there was silence, Journo was staring at me with his bright blue eyes he was on his side, messy brown hair lay rest over his forehead which was covered in sweat. He's too young. I stare back at him unreadably, thinking over what would be a safe word to mention. We stare at each other continuously for a couple of seconds, not saying a word to one another occasionally blinking.

I realise the look he gives me has changed over the last two years, he used to look at me as if I was his prankster of a brother, a friend, now it is much more. Since our mother got the sickness, I've had to work down the mines to keep ourselves from starving. The work is small seeing as I'm 16, just moving piles of coal to and from trucks, so I'm not paid as much, but because of the tesserae we have more rations than before.

As these thoughts run through my head, he watches me. I see it now, he looks at me how I used to look at my mother; hoping for some where to hide away from reality. We don't have a father, so I take care of my mother and try to take her to the healers where the merchants live. I look after Journo, it's never easy especially with school and the mines but it's better than being in Panem's community orphanages.

The silence is disturbed as he yawns, "Cant sleep?" I finally ask.

"No." He replied he shifted a little closer to the edge of his bed lazily tugging the blanket across his shoulders. He looks up above him to the ceiling his messy brown hair still clinging on to his damp forehead.

"I don't get it," he sighs, "Why do they happen ?" I follow his stance and look up above resting on my flat pillow that holds my neck in place. We knew why the games happen in every district. In school we were taught that we should be brave and honoured to be reaped as it is a historical moment for both the tribute and the district, but what is honourable about career packs killing for sport and riches, or watching one of your own die for nothing but breathing.

I bring my slightly calloused hands to my eyes and rub them, trying to being about sleep however failing. "You know why." I stated.

He looks at me, or I can sense it, his blue orbs radiating innocence. I still look away from his eyes towards the ceiling, the silence is disturbed again.

"What happens when we die ?" He asks

This time anger fuelled down my veins why would he have to think of dying at his age? However my face fell when I saw his curious eyes glassy, with surrounding red lines. I look at him gently, before replying.

"Well, our bodies decay and we turn into dust later on."

Not satisfied with this answer he sighs and turns away from me, facing the opposite wall of our room.

"What if we're chosen?"

"That will never happen, and if you do face the possibility of your own immediate death, know deep in your heart, there's nothing I can do to save you." I answer silently regretting my words.

He sits up shocked,"Haymitch that's not funny."

"Look, Journo the Games happen every year, most families never get chosen. Your name is just one in hundreds, okay? You won't get called so stop acting like a kid and go to sleep." I say roughly looking at the small damp arising in the corner of the ceiling.

He turns so fast I almost jump, averting my attention to him as this bed creaks."I don't care about what happens to me, I want to know what will happen to you!" Yelling breaking his voice.

"What if you get reaped, what would happen to Mom? Me? Halle? Mom's sick how is she going to get better, you take care of all of us. What would happen if you get hurt?"

Clearing my throat before answering, I thought about what he was saying. I care and worry about my family everyday.

What would happen if my name was called out?

Journo isn't old enough to support our mother and himself, he would need to go to school. How would they get money, food? How would our mother get treated? How will she get better? With all these questions running through my mind, I stopped and thought about something else, or rather someone else. Halle, my girl, one of the few people I can let in, the few people who makes home feel safe. What if I never make it back? What if I never say goodbye?

For the first time in a very long time, I looked at him with an unfamiliar emotion.

"I don't know."

I steady my breathing ignoring the dull heavy ache in my chest, " If I am reaped promise me to look after Mom. Parn and Klenn would help you out a bit. Just stay in school and tell Halle, not to worry, I'll be home before you know it."

Parn and Klenn were older friends, aged 18 twin brothers who taught me everything I know about mischief. Their mother was best friends with our own mother so they were great friends of the family, help was always given by them even when mom got ill. The worst of times.

Before Journo could reply, I stripped the blanket from my body and got up from bed walking over to the dirty old mirror at the corner of the room. I pulled on my battered jacket ruffling my hair and breath steadily to avoid water entering my eyes, however failing. As I left my working clothes, I didn't bother changing so I looked at him whilst walking towards his bed. I knelt down, his blue eyes staring at my seam grey ones.

"No matter what I won't let them take you." The aching gets heavier as I exhale, allowing the water to dry in my eyes.

I rufflled his damp untidy hair as I did when we were younger and pulled his blanket closer to his body, trying to guard him from his nightmares.

"Sleep Journo boy, I'll be back by morning. I promise." I whispered. Observing the small window that overlooked the forest, the sun sat over the green leaves reflecting a green taint amongst its orange-blue sky. It was nearly sun down. Grabbing my dagger, I placed it in a hidden pocket inside my wrinkled jacket. I walked over to the door and opened. Turning back to Journo I smiled.

" I won't let them take you away. I won't."


End file.
